


Living the Surreal

by Alethia



Category: Devour (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Doppelganger, Dubious Consent, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-29
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He—he looked exactly like Jake. No, it wasn’t a resemblance, a ‘oh, are you cousins?’ He was practically a copy, older, yes, little lines tensing around his eyes that Jake didn’t have. Little nicks and scars here and there, more stubble than Jake liked to keep, and it all had Jake blinking stupidly, ignoring the tickle of the blood running down his arm, the way his lungs and throat still <i>hurt</i>, to openly stare at this vision of himself.</p>
<p>“Jake, I’m Sam, that’s Dean,” he nodded to the guy who could be Jake’s twin, “and you’re in the middle of a dead woman’s bedroom. Care to explain?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living the Surreal

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/210832.html).

In the end, they hadn’t been able to hold him. Not with his lawyer promising to move for a change of venue, not when it would have been so easily granted. The memory of witch hunts and occultists still haunted their town; barely a generation had passed, the horror of it all still fresh in everyone’s mind.

And trying Jake’s case in Seattle, well, that was out of the question. Any jury would see Marisol’s hair where Jake’s father was abducted, Marisol’s skin cells on the ropes that tied his parents together, Marisol’s fingerprints on the chalice, not to mention the eyewitness that had Marisol wheeling Jake’s mother out of the hospital, and they’d be forced to conclude reasonable doubt.

His lawyer, Collins, had repeated it over and over and the quiet conviction he held was chilling, not because the man was in any way intimidating—balding, bespeckled, whip of a man he was—but because it meant Jake was gonna walk. Jake knew it and eventually the prosecutor had to admit it.

It meant he walked and it meant he had a life again, but what kind of life was this?

There was money, an embarrassingly large amount, the whole reason he could afford a high-profile defense attorney. Jake hadn’t even asked for one; he’d just stared dully at whatever wall they placed in front of him until one day he was looking at Collins and wondering at the gentle way he was speaking.

Aiden Kater, only hours from his death, though he didn’t know it then, had changed his will. He’d left everything to Jake, Collins reported, slow and measured, like he couldn’t wrap his own mind around it.

Jake distinctly remembered blinking at the news, not really getting it.

“Do you understand me, Jake?” Collins had patiently asked. “You’re a billionaire.”

From poor, college kid, son of a working-class family that had no assets in the world, to one of the country’s richest men, controlling the fastest growing media conglomerate on the planet—oh, no, Kater hadn’t limited himself to electronic-gaming; that was just the crown jewel. And Jake, just a twenty-one-year-old kid. 

Billionaire. It still sounded ridiculous.

Kater’s death was never looked into very hard or mourned very long. The cops said he’d accidentally tripped and fallen over the railing. He would have survived if not for the blow to the head. Such a tragedy.

But even that was only murmured by rote and never too loud. Kater’s funeral had been large and pompous and there hadn’t been a wet eye present.

The media loved the tale of Kater—childless—choosing a “protégé” from his hometown as his heir, a kid whom Kater, it turns out, had gifted with an academic scholarship to continue his computer education.

Jake hadn’t even known about that one until he saw it on CNN. And to think, he’d assumed he’d earned that scholarship because of all his hard work.

His entire life was a lie. Kater was right about that, at least.

It was almost funny, the way Kater’s advisors had been so afraid of him in those early days. They’d shared conspiratorial looks, asked everything of him in hushed, reverent voices, and Jake had just given them whatever they wanted. Sure, he’d put Kater’s number two, Sheffield, in charge until Jake had finished his education and was ready to assume the mantle as the newest computer god (as executives sighed in relief and the stock surged). Sure, he’d resume his college career, though possibly a more respectable institution was warranted (have to keep up appearances). Sure, he’d stay away from homicidal maniacs who wanted to kill everyone he knew and loved. 

It wasn’t like there was anyone left to kill.

And that was how he came to be here—tucked away in Sunnyvale, a little California suburb outside of Silicon Valley, the latter being where the headquarters of Kater Media Group was located. It was also a short hop from Stanford, his shiny new school, and it left Jake staring summer break in the face. Doing nothing.

It wasn’t like he had to do anything. Billionaire, after all.

Sheffield kept making noises about Jake getting an internship at the company, learning how it worked from the ground up, it’ll look so good to investors.

Jake had just shrugged and done nothing. He went to the local park often, to toss a ball, the one thing that _was_ his, and that was how he kinda fell into coaching some hyperactive little league team, so exhausting some days he even forgot that his life was a wreck.

It helped keep him preoccupied, anyway, kept his mind off the fact that they had come back, those waking nightmares.

He’d thought, maybe naively, that now that she was done with him, his mother, that they would go away, that he’d have some peace.

That really didn’t happen. They just—changed. Instead of his friends, now they were about people he didn’t know. Which kind of made sense since all his friends were dead, but was still disturbing. And he was getting random flashes when he touched people.

The publicists were spinning his reticence to shake hands as just another symptom of his genius, just think of the brilliance someone so socially inept will shower on the company. Never-ending profits, spread far into the future. Besides, Sheffield’s in charge. 

Needless to say, the stock went up.

Jake just shrugged and went with it; whatever they thought was best.

The waking nightmares had become so different, paired with the nightmares while he slept. Now it was all about women, women he didn’t know, attacked, but they didn’t know it, didn’t realize. Molested, his mind told him, even if it was just in dreams, even if there it was welcome. Some sort of monster, feeding off them.

Or worse, him. Those were the hardest, when some kind of weight pressed him down, real or imagined he couldn’t say, but it _felt_ real, some kind of teasing male presence, making his body react, laughter that sounded light but that felt malicious.

Jake always woke up sweating, come making his boxers sodden, unsure of what happened but knowing something had.

And then there were others, the—the visions, for lack of a better term, skipping from women to someone else, all unruly hair and blue-green eyes, tall. And another, a vision of himself? Older. The future, maybe?

None of it made any sense and all of it made his head ache, made him want to crawl into bed and stay there, do nothing for ever and ever.

But he’d already done nothing, once, and look where that had gotten him: a billionaire, sure, but with all his friends and family ruthlessly slaughtered.

So he got up, coached the kids, practiced in his own right. A carefree summer, outsiders would say. Hell, did say, the captions running loud and accusing under videos of him tossing a ball to kids too small to even hold their bats properly. Still, he went out and stayed within the little bubble he’d built, fortified by the money of a man on whose grave he’d happily spat.

Until he couldn’t anymore. Until the nightmares got urgent, screaming in his head, forcing him to do something.

His driver—his _driver_ , imagine that—was more than happy to chauffeur him around. Innocent, or so they thought, Jake just getting a feel for the area, exploring his world.

Until he saw a familiar apartment building. Not that he’d seen it anywhere but in dreams, a three-story luxury complex that had begonias trailing across the walls, lawn perfectly manicured, composed in every way. Except there was a woman in there who was visited at night, or would be, by that thing that made Jake’s skin crawl, and he knew it was real now, no way he could have made up all these details.

It had spurred him on, made him come back that very night, in his own car and alone, visions coming fast and sharp, painful enough that he knew he had to get there.

Slipping in her window was too easy by half, but the stillness of her bedroom told him all he needed to know. Still he had to look—that woman he’d seen, dyed blonde hair fanned out on her pillow, face almost smiling, peaceful in sleep. But it wasn’t that kind of sleep; he’d seen dead bodies before.

Jake had covered his mouth, backed away. Too late. He couldn’t do anything right, even when he was practically given an engraved invitation and it made his stomach clench and his head hurt and he just wanted to be gone, to turn and—

And blink at himself. Standing in front of the still-open window, eyes widening for only an instant—

The guy—himself?—caught him by the throat, no hesitation, and shoved him back into the wall, hand unrelenting, cutting off Jake’s air. Jake scrabbled at that hand, but the guy’s grip was like steel, unwavering.

The guy’s other hand disappeared…and pulled a wicked-looking knife out of _nowhere_. Jake felt only the beginnings of fear flash through him before the guy had slashed a clean cut across Jake’s forearm, the sting of it taking attention away from the fact that his vision was getting a little dark.

Jake struggled some more, even as he felt his lungs burning, but the guy didn’t even notice, just wiped at the blood on Jake’s arm and pulled at the edges of the stinging cut, like salting the burn.

“Not a shapeshifter,” he called out, tucking the knife away and assessing Jake warily, loosening his grip only minutely.

He—he looked exactly like Jake. No, it wasn’t a resemblance, a ‘oh, are you cousins?’ He was practically a copy, older, yes, little lines tensing around his eyes that Jake didn’t have. Little nicks and scars here and there, more stubble than Jake liked to keep, and it all had Jake blinking stupidly, ignoring the tickle of the blood running down his arm, the way his lungs and throat still _hurt_ , to openly stare at this vision of himself.

Another guy—this one was also eerily familiar—came up behind the first, holding a gun like it was an afterthought, like everyone just carried them around all the time. “Let him go, Dean.”

“Dean” looked back and even if he was still half-choking Jake could tell something passed between them because Dean quickly sighed and pulled away.

Jake sagged against the wall, coughing and cradling his still bleeding arm. “What—what the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” he wheezed, pressing a hand to the cut to try and stop the bleeding. Fuck that hurt, that salty, stinging burn that left his hands trembling.

The second guy splashed some water on him from some kind of flask and Jake sputtered, coughing, mind unable to wrap around it all. “What the fucking fuck? Who _does_ this?”

“Not possessed,” the second guy said and now that Jake got a look at him, yeah, this was the guy from his dreams. And…Dean had been there, too. Apparently Jake wasn’t dreaming about the future; just the really fucked-up present.

“What, you think I’m some kind of demon?” he spat, wiping at his face with his good hand and probably only managing to smear blood in with the water. Great.

“Or a shapeshifter,” the second guy said, almost conversational.

“I don’t like it, Sam. Not again.” Dean was pacing around the room, shooting Jake hostile looks and glowering at the body on the bed.

“Sam” chose to ignore that, head cocked and studying Jake like he was some kind of science experiment. Or a puzzle to piece together. It was unnerving.

“What?” Jake asked, defensive, hand back on his forearm and hunched over himself like he was able to protect anything that way; he straightened defiantly.

Sam just looked amused by his effort, but he sobered soon enough. “You do realize you’re alone in a room with a dead body.”

“I’m hardly alone.”

Sam smiled a little, nodded the point, and this was bizarre. This was so beyond bizarre. His doppelganger was prowling around, the woman was dead, and Sam was way more interested in what Jake was doing than any of that.

This is what he got for deciding to finally do something. Typical.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked, tucking his gun into the small of his back.

“Jake Gray.” His voice sounded a little hoarse and Jake shot Dean a glare for that. Not that he was even watching, too preoccupied with checking the door and other windows.

“Jake, I’m Sam, that’s Dean,” he nodded to the guy who could be Jake’s twin, “and you’re in the middle of a dead woman’s bedroom. Care to explain?”

“I don’t—I had a dream and something—something told me to—” 

Dean had stiffened behind Sam, turning to watch Jake carefully, and it was enough to snap Jake out of sinking into the horror of that, was enough to make him regain his head. “And what are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, jutting out his chin.

Sam smiled, faintly, and Dean’s head tilted in something like respect. It was Dean who answered: “We’re family friends.”

“Bullshit. If you were you would have knocked instead of climbing in through the window. What, you guys get off on preying on stupid women?” he sneered.

Dean started toward him, a snarl on his lips, but Sam shot a hand out and held him back, locking his knees and forcibly restraining him once Dean got close enough. “Dean,” he said, low, but Jake could still hear it and there was all sorts of meaning behind just his name. 

Dean held out his hands and backed away, going back to the woman and looking her over. It over.

“We’re here to help,” Sam said.

“What, someone called in the ghostbusters?” Jake sneered.

“Something like that. An old friend knew one of the women,” Sam shot back and the sincerity there was so very genuine, and the thing was, Jake believed him. Despite what he’d seen, all the darkness that surrounded these two in those dreams, they _felt_ good. Which was idiotic and nothing he’d say aloud. Hell, it even annoyed him in his head, not that he could do anything about it.

“I was trying to help, too.”

Sam nodded and took that as it was, finally looking around the rest of the room, pulling out some old walkman-looking thing and doing something with it, walking around the room, even past Jake with it. He never turned his back to Jake, though, kept angling his body so he could keep an eye on him.

That annoyed Jake, too.

Dean just shook his head at Sam. “It’s gone.” His tone bled frustration and residual distrust, like maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was leaning against the wall wearing his face.

“We’ll find it,” Sam said, reassuring.

“The thing that killed her?” Jake asked, looking between the two.

“What would you know about it?” Dean’s question was hostility purified and Jake bristled, ready to snap back, when Sam waved them both off.

“You said you had a dream,” Sam prompted, turning to study him again. He noticed Jake’s hand, still on his forearm, and dug through his pockets, pulling out a long strip of cloth, tossing it to him.

“Yeah. I saw…her. And this…thing.” Jake caught the cloth automatically, some kind of rag but it looked clean enough. He shook it out and started wrapping his forearm. Sam didn’t offer to help and Jake didn’t ask.

“Sammy.” Dean got his attention, nodding toward the window and then back to Jake. “We need to go.” They did that communicating thing again and Dean frowned.

“Uhh, bye,” Jake said, confused.

Sam smiled like he’d just made a joke. “That’s funny; you’re coming with us.”

With that he latched onto Jake’s shirt and hauled him toward the window. Several things happened at once: Jake got a flash, different than all his visions, some blonde woman pinned to a ceiling in a wave of fire, all blue-grey and horrifying, but Jake was still aware of the room, of how Sam grabbed his head, hissed, Dean stepping toward them. But Sam let go of Jake and it all stopped, blinked out like it had never been.

Sam stumbled back a couple steps, watching Jake like he was going to up and bite him or something, and Jake sucked in a breath, practically tasting the ash.

“It’s never been—who was that blonde girl?”

Sam rubbed at his temples, pain in his eyes. Jake could feel the pain from that vision, still, and Dean reached out for Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. But now he’s really coming with us.” Dean looked pleased with that and he nodded.

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Jake asked, annoyed.

“Who has the bigger gun?” Dean barked back, glaring at Jake like it was his fault that Sam hurt. Or something.

Jake spread his empty hands. “Since I have no gun, I’m gonna assume that’s you.”

“Damn straight. Now get your ass out that window.”

***

They took him to some dive motel and maybe the money was getting to him because he couldn’t help but wince when he saw the interior.

“Accommodations not up to your standards, princess?” Dean sneered on his way in, placing a duffel bag on the nearest bed.

“Don’t imagine I have much say seeing as I’m a prisoner,” he shot back.

“You’re not a prisoner,” Sam said softly, coming in behind Dean and shutting the door behind him, locking it securely.

“Uhh, yeah he is,” Dean said, making that point with that big-ass knife he kept on him. Jesus. How did Jake end up locked in a room with these two again?

“We just wanna talk,” Sam said, slanting a significant look at Dean that Jake couldn’t read at all.

“Yeah, about why he has my face,” Dean muttered.

“Or you have my face.”

Dean looked at Sam, smiling a little, but it was a bitter, pointed thing. “Between the two of us, who’d you guess is older?” he asked, gesturing back and forth between himself and Jake with the knife, silver and red flashing in the light, making Jake think of…things he’d rather not.

Jake focused on the anger instead. “Could be a trick. How do I know you’re not just another test my mother conjured up for me?”

“What, are we starting in on the ‘yo momma’ jokes already?” Dean asked, looking at him like he’d grown another head. “‘Cause I gotta say, kid, you don’t want to go there with me.”

“Why don’t we all just—take a breath,” Sam suggested, moving over to his bed and sinking down onto it like he was much, much older than he looked.

That was enough to steal away Dean’s attention, his gaze turned toward Sam and concerned, conflicted. Uncertain…maybe.

Interesting.

Sam caught the look and just shook his head. Like that, Dean was all business again, back to wiping down his knife, stowing it securely.

Sam turned to Jake, nodding toward the room’s only chair. “You mentioned you had a dream.”

Jake took a seat, wary but it was a particularly human kindness, so. “More like a nightmare.”

“And what did you see?”

“That woman and…something else. Something dark.”

“And what was happening?”

“Uhh, they were fucking,” Jake said, like it was obvious.

Dean pulled his head back, he hadn’t expected that one, and Sam lifted an eyebrow. “And you just—decided to interrupt them?” He said it mildly, but because it was mild Jake knew he was being mocked.

And he didn’t need to take any more shit from anyone else, quite frankly. That was another advantage to the whole billionaire thing. Or it had been before these two carried him off like he was so much battle booty.

“Look, I’ve had these things before and bad things happen when I don’t do anything so I don’t know what I was doing. I was not doing nothing,” he said, annoyed that he couldn’t explain it better.

“Well, real good job there, buddy,” Dean said, nodding at him with a very fake smile, hands digging into a duffel, pulling out nasty weapon after nasty weapon and putting them back, looking for something. Jeez.

“Yeah, you too.” It would probably have been smarter not to bait the man with the big bad guns…but Jake was tired and his arm hurt and his head hurt and he never had been particularly smart when it came to these things, dammit.

“Did the woman know what she was with?” Sam asked, forcing past the tension with this even tone that made Jake want to give him anything if only he’d keep talking, just like that.

It was…soothing. He didn’t get that a lot. At least, not unless it was paired with fear.

“I don’t know.”

Dean looked over at Sam, finished fishing through the contents of the duffel, and pulled out a shiny, pearl-handled gun, satisfaction on his face. “What, you’re thinking witchcraft?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s possible. Sex with the devil. Or, more likely, a demon.”

Jake straightened at the mention of the devil. Sam caught him at it.

Dean hadn’t been looking, had been checking the clip, and so continued on: “Last time I checked, dead witches weren’t exactly useful.”

“Something gone wrong. Why’d you just flinch, Jake?” Sam asked in that low, measured way he had. Coaxing. 

Dean’s attention snapped to him, as well, and Jake glared at him, just to keep himself focused. “You mentioned the devil. I have some…bad experiences there.”

“Oh, just spit it out,” Dean said.

“The devil? Is my mother,” he said, slowly, looking at Dean like he was talking to a child. Weirdest thing ever to be doing that to his own face, and to see the annoyance cross it like that, but there it was.

“And who told you that?” Sam asked, mild again, lips on the verge of twitching.

“She did. And you can stop laughing in your head. She killed my entire family so I think I know what I’m talking about.”

Dean scoffed, but Sam just nodded, like he believed Jake, all amusement gone, and that was such a—he didn’t know that that was what he wanted, someone to finally believe him, but it loosened something in him, something cold and hard and the story just spilled out, all the blood and gore and betrayal, enough to have Dean slumping onto his bed, gun limp in his hand.

“Hey, I’m sorry, man,” Sam said when he was done, honestly sincere, like he actually was sorry for all that Jake had gone through, and Jake nodded, looking at his hands. He hadn’t talked about any of that, well, since he was arrested, since before Collins told him to drop The Pathway thing because he looked like a fucking psycho, that the evidence for Marisol’s guilt would get him off so long as he’d stop making everyone want to institutionalize him.

“If it makes you feel any better, it probably wasn’t the devil. More like a demon messing with your mind,” Sam said, almost apologetic, like Jake would be upset about being demoted from son of the Devil to son of a random demon. Right.

Jake roused himself a little. “So I’m not, I’m not some kind of child of the damned?”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” Dean muttered, doing this squinty-eyed thing that made Jake think he was trying to decide whether to shoot Jake now and save himself the trouble or pump him for information first.

Yeah, it was a little intimidating. Jake had no idea he _could_ look that intimidating. He might want to think about cultivating that, actually.

“I don’t know. But demons are notorious for lying.” Sam said it on a wince, like it meant something to him, and Dean got that concerned look again and—

“What the hell is going on?” Jake asked, sitting up straighter. “You winced when you touched me. What was that?”

“None of your concern.” Dean’s voice was cold.

Sam ignored him: “I have visions, too. I saw something when I touched you.”

“What?” Jake asked, spreading his hands.

“Some of what you said.”

“Oh, what, so you just let me spill my whole sad—wait, you have visions, too? I’m not the only one?” It was pathetic how hopeful he sounded. But…not only did Sam believe him, Sam _got it_. Jake hadn’t had this feeling since—well, since the night of his 21st birthday, before all the shit went down and he put the only people who understood him in the ground.

“Are we gonna have a deep bonding moment here?” Dean asked, acid dripping off his tongue.

“Dean—” Sam started.

“No, you know what? I’m done. It’s almost five a.m. and the thing already got one person for the night, so I doubt it’ll go after another. And you need to get some sleep,” Dean nodded to Sam, serious, and it piqued Jake’s curiosity. These two…acted really strangely.

Then again, Jake probably didn’t have a leg to stand on making that judgment.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tired and you’re drained. So let’s just tie that one up and hit the sack.” Dean jerked his thumb at Jake and wait, they were talking about— 

“Right here, you know.” Both ignored him.

“And where do you suggest we do that?” Sam looked around their crappy motel room obviously, noting the complete lack of fixtures amenable to that just with his eyes. The look was both condescending…and really effective, actually. And Dean got it. These two knew each other well.

“Bathroom.” 

Sam snorted. “Yeah, that’ll work out great, what with what happened the last time.” Dean gave Sam an annoyed look, but neither elaborated and considering they were talking about tying him up, uhh, Jake thought it best he not push at that one.

“Bed,” Sam said, nodding at the headboard secured to his bed.

“Like hell.” 

“Okay, so it’s not like I’m gonna run away or anything,” Jake put in.

“Yeah, we’ll just take your word on that, buddy.” So apparently they could hear him, they just _chose_ to ignore him. Right.

Jake sighed and sat back, motioning for them to go ahead, it wasn’t like he had a say. Apparently.

“And where are you gonna sleep? Remember sleep? Preferably not waking up screaming in the night?” Dean asked.

Sam just frowned and hopped up, grabbing a pillow and the comforter, dumping them in the small space between the two beds. “I did go to college for almost four years, not to mention the crap we deal with on a regular basis. I have more than a passing acquaintance with sleeping on floors.”

Dean frowned and in two strides he was shoving everything back onto Sam’s bed, glaring at him. He jerkily grabbed his own pillow and comforter, tossing them down onto the floor with a look that dared Sam to comment.

Sam wasn’t as intimated by that look as Jake was. “Dean…”

“Just shut up and tie up the kid, would you?” Dean sounded both frustrated and tired and he didn’t even wait for a response before he stomped into the bathroom, shutting it with enough force to be petulant, but not enough to draw attention from other rooms.

It sounded like he’d had a bit of practice at that.

Sam sighed, something sad crossing his face, before he nodded his head for Jake to assume the position. 

Jake shook his head at both of them, at the situation, at the fucking _world_. “You’re both being retarded.”

“It’s called a precaution and we’ve learned the virtue of taking them.” 

Jake flopped back onto Dean’s bed with a resigned sigh and held out his hands in the age-old, mocking ‘cuff me’ pose. Sam’s lips pursed and he pulled a shiny pair of cuffs from…when had he gotten those?

“What, you just carry handcuffs around with you?”

“Only for really special occasions.” Sam grabbed Jake’s left hand and Jake sucked in a breath, preparing for an onslaught of images…

Which never came.

“Huh.” 

Meanwhile, Sam had cuffed him, tugging at them to make sure they’d hold, and nodded. He pulled off his shirt and jeans, dropping them tiredly, and crawled into bed, shutting off the light as he went.

Handcuffed to a bed, and not in the fun way, held prisoner by a guy with his face, still wearing his clothes, and hungry. Why had he thought doing something was a good idea again?

***

Laughter roused him, warm breath puffing at his ear, someone’s fingers trailing down his—bare?—sides.

Jake moaned a little, shifting, and the fingers moved to the inside of his thigh, blunt fingernails scratching in some kind of pattern, alternating loops, making goosebumps rise along his skin, making his dick twitch. The hand pressed at his thigh, pushed it out, spreading him open as warm and now wet fingers played him, moving down behind his balls, teasing at the entrance to his body.

God that felt good. Jake grunted, pressing toward the fingers, moaning as they slipped in, stretching him easily, like this was a normal thing.

There was something about that—but then those fingers hit a spot inside him and Jake arched back, felt his arms go rigid, felt the tug at his left wrist, the bite of metal.

He finally opened his eyes and looked over; his hand was cuffed to the bed, everything past it muted out by some kind of blank darkness, and there was something about that, too, but Jake couldn’t quite catch the thought before those fingers were distracting him again, the man between his legs licking the head of his cock as he twisted his fingers inside him.

Jake pulled at his wrist again and the bite felt good, made his dick twitch. The guy looked up at him, all teasing blue-green eyes and grinning, like that amused him.

Then the fingers were gone and his thighs were pressed open even more. Jake just let it happen, fisting one hand at the edge of the mattress and straining against the handcuff in the best kind of pleasure-pain as the guy shoved _in_ , hard, tearing a hiss from Jake’s lips.

He watched Jake as he fucked him, as if he were something to be seen, all hard thrusts that shook Jake’s whole body, some kind of weird light in his eyes that cut through the haze of pleasure and made something in Jake’s head shout a warning at him. He couldn’t really hear it, not when he was so full, a line of heat burning straight into him, pain and pleasure mixing into some conflicting spasm that had Jake throwing his head back as ecstasy poured out of him.

Everything went light and hazy and Jake couldn’t focus on anything, waves of heat cresting through him, impossible to think around, blinding, until—

Until it was gone, finished on a shock, like it’d never been, Jake blinking at two incredulous faces and a bedside lamp, still trussed up and with come cooling in his boxers.

Jake realized he was still arched and flopped down, wincing at the feel of the come between his thighs. “Ugh.”

“What the hell was that?” Dean was up and Jake couldn’t watch, just threw an arm over his eyes and tried to breathe past this hideous moment. It was one thing to have happen in his own room, alone. Here was something else entirely.

Jake heard Sam shifting on his bed, felt his eyes taking him in. “Was that—those were the kinds of dreams you’ve been having?”

“Sometimes,” Jake grumbled, refusing to remove his arm. Or move. His boxers really were disgusting.

“I guess we can rule out witchcraft gone wrong. How many times has this happened?” Sam asked, using that measured, controlled tone of voice again.

Jake shrugged, as much as he could, anyway. “A few.”

Dean scoffed and Jake could hear him pacing. “We’re not asking for an estimate, we need exact numbers.”

Sam cut in with a sigh, explaining: “If we know how long this has been going on for, it might give us some clue about how to stop it.”

Jake finally moved his arm, pulling it back to scrub a hand over his eyes, thinking. It had been…

“Five,” he said, finally.

“Five times.” Sam said it so softly that Jake just knew there was something important about that.

“What?” he asked, defensive and trying to sit up, wincing at the slide of wet cloth and the cut of metal into his skin. He checked and yep, angry purple-red bruises bloomed around his wrist.

Sam shook his head slowly. “These women—all these women died after one…and you’re fine after five times.”

“So the question is what makes him so special?” Dean asked. “Besides the devilish good looks.”

Jake winced at the mention of the devil, but Dean either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Jake was betting on the latter.

“Your visions, your…mother. What was her goal?”

Jake shrugged again, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hunching down on himself, wrist still tethered to the headboard. “She wanted me to join her.”

“So you’re some kind of half-demon?” Dean said, obviously not looking at Jake and Jake’s current state of being. For that, Jake didn’t blame him.

“But that would make sense,” Sam said, turning to Dean. “Why he would be fine. Also, why the demon would keep coming back to him. Like a—renewable battery. It sucks the energy out one day, gets a taste for it, and keeps coming back.”

“But why even bother with the women if he’s such a tasty treat?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe it has a mission. Maybe it has some other goal. I dunno. But it probably wasn’t expecting you,” Sam said, turning back to Jake.

“Demon-spawn, demon-catnip. Typical.”

“More importantly, a demon got in here and we didn’t even notice,” Dean pointed out in a low tone, frowning.

“It doesn’t—it feels real, feels like you want it. You don’t—struggle,” Jake finished lamely, looking at his wrist and how did he square that one?

“You looked—you were arched like only—” Sam stopped, sighed, running a hand over his forehead in thought. “The demon’s male?” he asked, holding a hand out like he was just checking, no offense intended.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Dean shook his head, still looking at Sam. “That doesn’t make sense. What? An incubus? Going after a guy? A gay incubus?”

Sam chuckled out a laugh, like he couldn’t believe Dean actually went there. “Yeah, demons have sexuality.”

“Hey, I’ve got four dead women and one very alive man—with my face, no less—so all I’m saying is—”

“It just wants energy. I don’t think it cares where it comes from.”

“Yeah, the world just loves screwing over Jake Gray.” He looked up at the ceiling, spreading the hand he could. “Got anything else? Bring it on.”

Dean finally looked at him, gracing Jake with this look that said a whole lot and none of it was nice. “Yeah, hoist that cross, kid.”

“Please. You got an incubus visiting you every other night and a demon that killed your entire family?” Both Dean and Sam went very quiet at that last and what? “What’d I say?”

Dean waved him off, face pressed firmly into a scowl and Sam had his head in his hands so Jake couldn’t see—

“Wait a minute, Jake Gray,” Sam said, head shooting up.

“Yeah?” Jake said, shaking his head a little. Was he witnessing this guy finally snap?

“ _The_ Jake Gray?”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, watching Jake suspiciously again.

Jake looked away. The window really was fascinating.

“You are. I can’t—Dean, this guy’s a billionaire.” It always happened like this, people found out about the money, fawned all over him, treated him differently.

Jake could feel Dean’s eyes as they slid over him, something to be studied, scrutinized. Always the same.

“Doesn’t look like much to me.”

That startled a laugh out of Jake, making him turn his eyes back, and Dean was still frowning at him, still didn’t trust him. No change there.

That continued hostility was almost…refreshing. And how fucked was that?

“What are you—where’s your security team?”

“Oh, great, we gonna have the FBI busting in here any minute to ‘save’ your ass?” Dean went swiftly to the window, peeking out of the curtains to check…something. It was already light, just past morning, and Jake felt the pull at his muscles that told him he wasn’t used to pulling all-nighters. Not anymore.

“I gave them the night off. They don’t know I’m here…though they’re probably tracking my car by now.”

Sam cocked his head. “Where’s your car?”

“A few blocks from that woman’s apartment.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned this before?” Dean grunted, moving from the window, apparently satisfied that SWAT wasn’t using the parking lot as a staging area for their all-out assault.

“To the guys holding me captive? Yeah, and while I’m at it, lemme just give you my bank account numbers, too. Especially with a guy who could be my twin doing the holding.”

“Why’s that?”

“You could just kill me and take my place.”

“Keep being an asshole and we’ll see how much temptation I can take.”

“No one’s killing anyone unless it’s that demon, all right?” Sam asked, turning to pin both of them with equally-annoyed stares.

The face Dean made was rebellious…but he still did what Sam said. “So we have a high-profile captive that’s catnip to our incubus. Fucking wonderful. I’m going for food,” Dean said, visibly washing his hands of the entire conversation. Sam looked up like Dean’s tone was something different…but didn’t say anything.

The door clicked shut behind Dean and Jake took a breath.

“You guys are weird.”

“Understatement of the century. But—man. Owner of Kater Media Group.”

Jake shook his head, trying to move, only to be stopped by the handcuff. He jiggled his hand impatiently. “We’re all awake. Can you uncuff me yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Sam dug the key from the pants on the floor and unlocked him, Jake pulling his wrist and rubbing at it gingerly. Sam pulled on his pants for good measure.

“Anyway, don’t get so excited. Kater was an occultist. The only reason he made me his heir was because he was convinced that I was the Antichrist or something. He did it before he even met me.”

Sam pulled up a leg, resting it on the bed and his chin on his knee, a far-away expression settling onto his face. “And you refused your mother, he died, and now you’re in control of a massive fortune. I mean—man, think of all that you could do with that.”

“Yeah, I’m the steward of a fortune amassed only because Kater had the devil on his side.”

“Still, you have it. You can use it.”

Jake shrugged. “I guess.”

Sam’s attention focused back on him again, intense. “What, you haven’t thought about this?”

“Mostly I’ve been ignoring the entire situation.”

“Seriously? Even knowing what happened to you?” Sam blinked at him like he was some new species he hadn’t previously encountered.

“I thought what happened to me was just about me. I had no idea people like you existed, that anything else existed.”

“You didn’t check?”

“You make it sound—look, I don’t know about any of this stuff.” Jake spread his hands wide, all-encompassing. Sam would—probably get it.

“I get that and I am all for following your own path…but it seems like you’re following no path,” he said after a minute, eyes all soft and gentle. It made something inside Jake itch.

“Don’t I know it,” he grunted, looking away.

Sam scrubbed a hand across his eyes…and now that he really looked, Jake supposed he did look tired. Dean hadn’t been bullshitting that.

“You—need sleep.”

Sam laughed a dry, brittle thing. “You sound just like Dean. That’s…disturbing, actually. Please stop.”

“Is it because of the visions?”

Sam laughed, a little desperate, looking to some far-off place. “More like nightmares.”

“Yeah, I hear that. I’ve been dreaming about girls I’ve never met for more than a week.”

“That’s how you knew where to go last night? You saw it?” The thing about Sam was, Jake kept thinking he was off in his own world, contemplating his own pain, but that wasn’t the case; he’d switch on a dime, coming back, focus sharp as a blade. It kept throwing Jake off his game.

“Yeah. I’ve been driving around, trying to match up places, see if it’s all in my head. I guess it’s not.”

Sam shook his head and he…he _got_ it. “If only it were.” There were all sorts of issues there, but Jake didn’t have to know him very well to understand the overwhelming bitterness. Hell, he knew what that felt like.

Jake didn’t even try to hide his curiosity. “How long have you had yours?”

Sam dropped his leg to the floor and laid back, staring at the ceiling. The angle of the light lit up his eyes into something blue-green and _deep_. “Little less than a year. You?”

“Three or so.”

Sam’s eyes found him again, quicksilver fast. “Jesus. That long?”

“They were more like waking nightmares, really. I thought they’d go away once it was all over. I was wrong about that, too.”

“Do they have any kind of trigger? Besides when you touch people?”

Jake nodded at Sam noticing that, but otherwise shook his head. “Not really. Lately they’ve all come at night.”

“Your subconscious is more open then. It overrides your conscious mind and lets in what it wants.”

Jake laughed shortly. “I really wish it would stop.”

“You and me both.”

They slipped into a companionable silence, Sam staring at the ceiling, Jake staring at Sam. There was something…familiar about him.

He shook the thought off, shifted a little, and grimaced. Fuck, that was disgusting.

“I think I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, getting up slowly.

Sam looked at his crotch and then quickly away and they both blushed at that. “Yeah,” Sam said shortly.

The bathroom was as crappy as everything else and Jake hurriedly used the facilities and stripped off his clothes. The water was too soft and too hot but whatever, it did the trick. He didn’t need long anyway and soon he was toweling off and putting his clothes back on. Sans boxers. Those went in the trash ‘cause, just, no.

Sam was in the same position when Jake walked out, sporting a frown that was all about puzzling something in his head. He took a deep breath and sat up, caught Jake looking at his chest, but didn’t comment. His face went through several expressions, like he was thinking how to phrase something, and Jake tilted his head on a question, sitting on the end of Dean’s bed.

Sam gave up and smiled half-heartedly, like he was apologizing in advance. “So, you liked it?” He sat up and kind of gestured to the bed, the headboard, Jake’s dick, something.

Still, it got the point across. “I—yeah. I mean, it feels real.”

“And you couldn’t tell that it was a dream?”

“Well, not beyond that it was a somewhat unusual choice of a hook-up for me, no.” Off Sam’s look he waved his hand vaguely. “You know, a guy.”

“You don’t—”

Jake jumped in, not wanting to hear where that sentence was going. “Not really, no. I mean, college.” He half-shrugged and Sam nodded, catching on. “But other than that, no.”

“Huh.”

“Does that mean something to you?”

“No, it’s just, I mean, that’s weird, right? That the demon would come to you as a guy when you don’t really like guys.”

“Honestly? I don’t even think I’d recognize normal anymore.”

“Yeah, but—”

Dean came through the door with a kick, balancing take-out boxes and coffee cups and holding a bag in his mouth. Which he promptly dropped, the little white sack floating to the floor on a crunch. “I had a thought.”

“Did it hurt?” Sam asked, small, kind smile in place.

Dean glared at him, even as he precariously carried everything to the table. “For that, I am eating your bran muffin.”

“You don’t even like bran muffins.”

“It’s the principle. You must be punished for insulting your brilliant brother’s intelligence.”

“So not only did you have a thought, you had a brilliant thought.”

“Please. All my thoughts are brilliant.”

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back on his hands, the muscles in his chest flexing with the movement. “Yeah, I especially liked the one that had us barging in on an overgrowth of sentient flora armed with a few handguns and some rock salt.”

“Hey, we’re alive.” Dean rustled in the bags, coming out with a container.

Sam turned to Jake. “Poison ivy for weeks, man. Weeks.” He shook his head, wincing. “You don’t know agony…” 

“Fuckin’ possessed poison ivy. But, dude, alive.” He gestured with his plastic fork, like that was all that mattered.

“A venus flytrap tried to eat my head!”

Jake frowned. “A venus flytrap? Aren’t those really small?”

Sam shook said head. “Not mutant, possessed ones. My _head_.”

“Yeah, it woulda messed up all your pretty hair. Let’s all feel bad for Sammy.”

“You should feel bad. I could have been plant food. _Fertilizer_.”

Dean just rolled his eyes; it was obviously a conversation they’d had more than a few times. “Anyway, my thought: the incubus likes the kid, right? Then he gets to be bait.”

“Demon-spawn, demon-catnip, demon-bait. Wonderful. Is this gonna get me tied up again?”

Dean started poking his fork through the take-out box, but snorted and paused to throw him a knowing look. “Oh, please. You got off on that.”

Jake flushed, unable to control it, and he knew both men noticed it. “Dean!” Sam hissed, like a horrified father.

“I was just needling the guy! But, dude, really?” Dean asked, frowning. A half-moment later and he shrugged. “Well, whatever floats your boat. All I’m saying, if history repeats itself, we won’t need to go anywhere ‘cause this sucker’s gonna come to us, for _him_.” Dean pointed to Jake with a rolled up pancake before promptly stuffing it into his mouth.

Sam looked at the ground, biting his lip a little. “Huh. There’s an idea.”

“And you doubted me.” It came out kinda garbled, but Jake figured that was the gist. Dean looked pleased, anyway.

Jake sighed, resigning himself. “If I have to do this again, can we please just go back to my place? Another night on this bed will kill me.”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah, try the floor, jerkoff.”

“Your choice, asswipe.”

“Where’s your place?” Sam interrupted their little game of insult one-upmanship. Too bad; that could have gotten interesting.

“Huh? Oh, over in Sunnyvale. I have a ‘compound.’” He included the airquotes for effect.

Dean was having very little luck getting his eggs to stay on his fork, Jake noticed. “Nice. We gonna get arrested the second we step foot in it?” He tossed the fork and used his fingers instead, popping scrambled eggs in like it was meant to be a finger food. 

“Yeah, my aides would love that hitting the media. Besides, I want this thing gone, too. It’s the principle: I am not demon food. No matter how hot the interface is,” he added, kicking out a foot at Sam’s bed.

“The interface is hot?” Sam asked, interest piqued.

“Okay, evil thing killing people. Four dead women. We remembering that part?” Dean waved some bacon around like it was some kind of organic laser pointer, marking his emphasis for the class.

Didn’t much work because Jake had to smirk at Sam, he _had_ to. It was a necessity for his manliness. “Totally hot. Hot like nothing else, ever.”

Dean had stuffed the bacon in his mouth, finally, but now he looked mildly put-out that his breakfast was gone. “Fine. It’s a totally hot vision projected by a demon that’s, oh yeah, _trying to kill you_. Can we get going already? I don’t wanna pay for this room any longer than I have to.”

“You have to pay money for this? That’s—interesting.” Dean’s eyes narrowed and Jake sent him a winning smile and it was hard to even remember that he was kind of afraid of this guy yesterday. Sure, he was a badass, but he wasn’t even close to the ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ kinda guy Jake had first assumed.

“You know what? Neither of you get food. You’re both being punished.”

Jake shrugged, standing. “I have a personal chef, so good luck with that whole punishment thing.”

That took some of the air out of his sails and Jake rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets, smiling.

Dean pulled a face. “Is that really what I look like when I’m all pleased with myself? Have to quit making that expression.”

***

“Why Sunnyvale?” Sam asked, turning in the passenger seat and assessing Jake.

“KMG’s headquartered in Silicon Valley and I’m starting Stanford next year.”

Sam blinked, shaking his head a little. “You’re going to Stanford? CS?”

“Yeah. They’re making me do some of the GER’s, though, so I’ll have to be a little longer than I planned.”

Sam grinned…and when he did that he looked like a completely different person, this happy, carefree guy that had never even heard of demons, much less hunted them. He pressed against the seat, like he could get to Jake by going through it rather than around it. “Dude, you’ve gotta take Sapolsky’s Human Behavioral Biology. He only offers it in winter quarter but it’s amazing.”

Jake frowned, scratching a hand over his thigh. “Cool. Thanks for the tip. But, hey, how would you know?”

“Genius-boy over here went to Stanford,” Dean said, looking utterly relaxed all sprawled out in the driver’s seat.

“Can you major in ghostbusting?” Jake asked, innocent.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, light pouring in from the window kind of outlining him in gold. “Ha. Pre-law, actually. Hey, you should take Computer and Law, too. I hear it’s a good class.”

Dean cut in: “Aww, I hate to break up the Stanford geek-fest, but we’re here.” He’d stopped by the curb just outside the main gates and pointed at the house, visible through the trees.

Sam turned and—“You weren’t kidding when you said compound.”

Jake shrugged, even though neither was looking at him. “Security. Or something. Anyway, lemme just get them to open the gates.” He hopped out, pressing the buzzer for a really long time, long enough that it’d get on Security’s nerves. He loved messing with those guys.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’d like to order a cheeseburger and some fries—” Jake started.

“Mr. Gray!” The security cameras were working, then. Good to know. “We’ve been looking for you. One moment.” A mechanical whirring noise started up and the gates slowly opened inward. Jake walked behind the car as it pulled in, blinking at the frantic security team that rushed out.

“What’s the matter, Jerry, wife giving you trouble again?” He could so fake confidence. He was all over it.

Jerry breathed deeply, like it was the first calming breath he’d taken in a while. “Mr. Gray! We thought you’d been kidnapped. We found your car this morning and you didn’t tell us where you were going. I was about to contact Sheffield. Please, please, don’t do that again.” His haggard look made Jake feel a little bad. Jerry had probably been up all night worrying and calling people and looking for him, while Jake had been tied to a bed while a demon had his wicked way with him.

Yep. He should definitely feel a little bad, even if it was technically Jerry’s job to keep him from not being tied to beds and stuff. 

Then again, Sam…and Dean. Jake supposed the bad evened out with the good in the end.

“Nah, nothing like that. Just hanging out with some friends.” He nodded toward Sam and Dean, now out and openly staring at the house, and Jerry’s double-take at Dean made him laugh.

“He’s a distant relative,” Jake explained, walking toward the two of them.

Dean snorted, hearing that. “Please. We all know you’re my clone. Obviously, the world needed more of this face.” He waved to said face and tipped his head back in an exaggerated model’s pose.

Sam punched him in the arm.

“Then it’s a good thing I came out much more attractive than you. Improving on the original, so to speak.” He skirted around them, security following, heading up the main stairs.

Sam snickered and Dean looked affronted, but Jake turned his attention back to his people. He had people. Weirdest shit ever. “They’ll be staying the night so don’t let the guys give them a hard time, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam paused on the stairs and raised an eyebrow behind Jerry’s back. Jake just shrugged at him. His life really was that bizarre.

***

“Holy—” Whatever exclamation of joy was cut short as Dean walked in and fell onto the leather couch, worshipping the supremacy of his entertainment center by kicking his legs out and sinking into it on a satisfied sigh. He stretched to the end table, hunting through the remotes to find the one that clicked on the wall-size TV.

“I do own a media company.” But Dean had already tuned him out, flipping through channels in that way every red-blooded American male was obligated to know, waving a dismissive hand behind his head.

Sam chuckled, low and rich, like he was used to Dean’s antics.

Jake started out of the room, shaking his head and deciding it was better just to let Dean play. “I have all the game consoles, too, if he’s interested.”

“Nah, Dean’s more of an old-school kinda—”

“You get the Playboy Channel? Awesome!” The moans of two—three?—women could be clearly heard even as they walked down the hall and Jake breathed out a laugh. He could go back and bond with his twin over some hot girl-on-girl—he once would have, if only for the action—but Sam was here.

So Jake wandered into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since…a while ago.

“Jeanette must be out getting food,” he said, explaining the empty room, though empty was kind of relative. The kitchen was chock full of gleaming metal, probably enough to melt down and build a whole car. Jake might actually be able to do that, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what half the stuff in the room did.

“She cooks all your meals for you?” Sam asked, hopping up onto the blue granite countertop easily, watching Jake as he pulled stuff from the fridge. 

“Most of the time. I don’t eat out much,” he said with a shrug, tossing a head of lettuce at Sam with a grin.

Sam caught it, shaking his head. “You don’t work, you don’t go out, you, frankly, kinda suck at fighting evil…what exactly do you do?”

Jake laughed, not taking offense. He could imagine Dean saying something similar and making Jake want to punch his lights out…but Sam had a way of disarming you with the truth. “I coach little league in the local park,” he said, grabbing the bread from the breadbox. “Other than that…not a whole lot.”

“Besides getting attacked by demons.”

“I thought I was regressing back to high school with nightly wet dreams. I’m not sure which is worse, actually.” He frowned, thinking about it, but shook it off. He held up the two loaves to Sam, asking with an eyebrow.

Sam tapped the whole wheat and Jake nodded, tossing the other one back across the room. It…landed in the vicinity of the breadbox. 

“Won’t matter after tonight. If the demon comes here tonight,” Sam amended quickly.

Jake hmmed, stacking cold cuts on top of cheese on top of cold cuts. It’d be fine; it was practically impossible to ruin a sandwich. Sam grabbed his wrist when he reached for the mayo and Jake hissed, the pressure enough to send pain flaring across his nerves.

Not to mention his dick twitched at that. God, he was so fucking fucked.

Sam let go once he realized, something heavy coming into his eyes. “Hey, sorry, man. Forgot about the—”

Jake waved it off, shaking out his wrist and trying to ignore how it still tingled. “No problem. But if you don’t like how I’m doing this, you can make your own goddamn sandwich.” He grinned, bumping into Sam’s leg lightly and a small smile flitted over Sam’s face. He hopped down, grabbing the mustard with an air of disdain toward Jake’s mayo.

“I’ll live longer,” he said easily, flicking his fingers at the offending substance.

“In your profession?” Yeah, Jake probably shouldn’t have gone there, not with the way Sam kind of frowned and slowed his movements, spreading the mustard all the way to the edges of the bread, careful and precise.

“Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, you’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just—I have to see something through. With Dean. Then I don’t know.” He pinned Jake with a forced smile before going back to the art of creating the world’s most organized sandwich.

“Not making a career of it? Pay probably sucks.”

“It really does. And there are things I want. You can’t have very much in our line of work.”

“You guys move around all the time? You don’t have a home base?” His voice sounded disbelieving, even to his own ears, but then he really thought about it. “Then again, it might be nice not to have anything tying you down,” he mused. It was hard to imagine not having roots somewhere, but it also meant no one expected things from you, looked at you like you had all the answers. He could see the appeal.

“You have to really choose it,” Sam said, taking a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly, gaze off somewhere else. The light coming in from the window cut him in half as it creeped in.

“Must be freeing to be able to make that choice.”

Sam snorted, swallowing the bite, throat working. It reminded Jake to take a bite of his own. “It’s not like you don’t have any say over your life. Especially you,” Sam said with a laugh.

“You’d be amazed what lawyers will tell you you can’t do. Takes all the fun out of it,” Jake said, leaning in conspiratorially.

Sam leaned his forearms on the granite and ducked his head with a smile, sandwich held loosely in one hand. The light almost fully illuminated him, starting to encroach on Jake. “I’m sure it’s so tough, having billions of dollars to throw around. Man, what I would do…”

“What would you do?” Jake still had no idea what he’d do and he actually had the money.

Sam shrugged, a sad twist to his lips. “Finish school without worrying how I’m gonna pay for it. I dunno, buy a house. Have a home base somewhere.”

And Jake had all that and he still wasn’t content. Amazing how different people could be. “Yeah,” he said, unnecessarily, just to get some sound out there in the thick silence that settled over them. The afternoon light made things lazy and slow and Jake didn’t even want his sandwich anymore—probably too much cheese—and he’d only had half. He wanted—he didn’t know what he wanted, but there was something about the tilt of Sam’s head that—

“Yes! Food!” Dean exclaimed, walking in like he owned the place, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he plucked Jake’s sandwich from right in front of him.

Sam shook his head, once, before focusing himself back on Dean. Dean who was demolishing the rest of Jake’s sandwich as he rustled through the pantry, pulling out bags of chips.

“Help yourself,” Sam said mildly and Dean just flashed him a pleased grin.

“Dude, you are missing _the best_ porn in there. Seriously, how often do we get to watch porn?”

“The two of us? If I have anything to say about it, uhh, never.”

Dean rolled his eyes and disappeared into the fridge, coming up with a beer and a grin. “That’s just silly, Sammy.” He made a really good drawer-guess and came up with a bottle-opener, popping the cap expertly and tossing it at Sam’s head. “Brothers share things.”

“Not those things.”

Jake blinked. And frowned. And blinked again. “You guys are brothers?” he asked, looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

“Did we forget to mention that?” Dean asked, about as innocent as Briana Banks and not nearly as hot, and Jake shook his head, wondering at why he instinctively didn’t like that idea.

“Huh.”

“You kids play nice now,” Dean said, breezing back out now that he’d stocked up on hydrogenated food products.

Yeah, Jeanette’s lectures were fun.

“My brother very often resembles a bull in a china shop,” Sam said, still eyeing his brother’s path of retreat.

“Noticed that.”

And then…things got awkward, though Jake couldn’t exactly say why. Sam finished his sandwich distractedly, shifting from foot to foot, only the tiniest of movements but noticeable enough. Jake watched him do it, not saying anything, his mind whirling through half-formed thoughts that he couldn’t quite resolve into anything useful.

“So when you look at me you see your brother,” he said, finally, low. He could see dust mites swirling in the golden light, the room now fully illuminated as the sun went off on its merry way to bed.

Sam licked the mustard from his fingers, shaking his head. But he didn’t look over. “No. You two are—well, you couldn’t be more different.”

“Except for the fact that I’m his virtual twin.”

Sam half-shrugged. “I’ve always thought the superficialities were less important.”

Jake snorted, then laughed. And kept on laughing, the sound loud in the room, even as tears came to his eyes and he had to bend over to support himself. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, but what a load of bullshit.”

Sam turned and folded his arms, leaning against the island and raising an affronted eyebrow.

“C’mon. You’re a guy.”

“Yeah, a guy whose family hunts monsters for a living. A guy with no home, no credit history, no worldly possessions beyond what’s in that car, and right now, with no future to speak of. So, yeah, I’m a guy and yeah, I can appreciate pretty things, but I’d like to think I appreciate what’s underneath a whole lot more.”

Was this guy for real? Either way, what do you say to that?

“You think I’m pretty?”

Sam rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the island and moving around Jake to follow where Dean had led. “I’m gonna go see if I can’t find a ritual that’ll combine you two into one. Maybe then you’ll reach the level of maturity of a normal person.”

With that he was gone and huh.

Okay, what just happened?

***

Jake didn’t want to go see what Sam was up to since, well, he hadn’t sounded too happy, so he was left wandering. Which meant he was gonna have to stop in on Dean. It was inevitable.

Also, bizarre.

Dean seemed to sense how he hesitated in the doorway, and he turned and shot him an amused glance, reminding him it was his house, why couldn’t he fucking own that?

It wasn’t like Jake even thought of this as his house. He didn’t have a house. But whatever, the look was enough of a challenge to force him to walk in.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Uhh, he said something about looking up a ritual.” It was the truth. Kind of.

“Pissed him off, huh? Don’t worry about it, happens all the time. Besides, you won’t be around a month down the line when he finally decides to push it.”

“Um, yay?”

Dean rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the flesh on-screen. “Dude, you’re hovering. Quit acting like some kind of mama bird and pull up a couch.” He gestured to the other sofa like it was his to give and Jake just shrugged, taking a seat and leaning back to watch the show.

“She is _not_ a natural blonde,” he commented idly, fingers working at the leather of the headrest.

“Who cares? You know many women who can suck cock like that? ‘Cause, I don’t.”

“I don’t know many women,” he said dryly, but Jake supposed it was kind of impressive how she bobbed her head up and down, up and down, totally at ease with her knowledge of the craft.

“So, what, you sit here at home, counting your money, eating every kind of packaged food Kraft makes and ignoring your demons?”

“Nah, I fill the pool with gold coins and go for a swim like Scrooge McDuck. It’s way more fun than actually counting anything.”

Dean’s gaze dropped down Jake’s body, then came back up, all about assessing and challenging and some kind of respect. Maybe.

He even broke into a half-smile, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, seems like a waste to me.”

“As opposed to driving around in an ancient car, listening to our parents’ music, and shooting things for no money?”

“Shooting bad things,” Dean corrected, fishing out a nacho cheese Dorito and shoving it in his mouth with a crunch.

“Oh, sorry. Forgot that important distinction, there.”

“And it beats knowing and doing nothing,” Dean said, pointing with another Dorito like all the evil in the world was somehow Jake’s fault.

“Knowing. God.” He threw his head back against the couch, looking at the ceiling blindly. “You act like a little encounter with the devil—demon—somehow means the Encyclopedia of Monsters, Myths, and Legends should have been automatically downloaded into my brain.”

“Maybe you shoulda spent some time reading up on it, since a demon did try to kill you and all.”

Jake looked back down, meeting Dean’s gaze squarely. “Right, so I can dedicate my life to being a ghostbuster, just taking off in my Lincoln Towncar to fight evil, save the innocent and downtrodden, and get a kiss from the girl for my troubles.”

“Sometimes you get more than that,” Dean said with a pervy smile, like it was one of the happier parts of the job.

“Wow, a perk right up there with a benefits package. I’m all tingly.”

“Nah, that’s probably the feeling coming back into your hands after getting off on people holding you down.”

“Oh, well, that’s it, then. You’ve convinced me. Where do I sign up to join this hallowed profession? Let me guess: I have to sign away my life in my own blood.” Sam…was possibly more right than Jake had thought; he and Dean really were completely different, in every meaningful way.

“I’m sure your mom would be all over helping you out with that.” Plus Dean just really made Jake want to punch him most of the time.

Jake narrowed his eyes and the girl on the screen screamed and a light tapping came from the doorway, absurdly stealing his attention from all of it.

Sam looked between him and Dean, going back and forth, accurately gauging their moods. “Everyone playing nice?” he asked, smiling tightly.

“You know it. Me and the child of the damned over there were havin’ a little career counseling session.”

Sam frowned. “Right. Well, I was looking through—can we turn that off?” he nodded to the screen, but didn’t look back at them, kind of caught by what was there, that blonde chick getting rammed doggy-style, mouth issuing the most obscene litany of bullshit Jake had ever heard. 

She sounded a lot like Dakota, actually.

Dean smirked like he was insanely proud before clicking off the TV. Sam blinked…and then he was back, slight flush tingeing his cheeks and shifting. Uh-huh. He was a guy, all right.

“Uh...yeah. Anyway, since we don’t know when this thing’s gonna go down, I thought we should go over what’ll happen,” he said to Jake, moving around to sit on the end of his couch.

“Incubus comes and does his thing, we exorcise it. How is this complicated?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, looking at Dean—his _brother_ , God—exasperated. “What’s to keep the incubus here long enough for us to exorcise it? It can just go find another victim and come back for Jake some other time.”

Dean motioned for Sam to continue. “Since you’ve thought this all through I’m assuming you have an answer.”

Sam held up a book that Jake supposed meant something, but just looked like a leather-bound calendar to him. “I found a binding ritual that’ll turn the feeding into a simple possession. Then we can use the tried-and-true exorcism ritual I have.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?” Jake asked, scratching his ear. Sam’s eyes strayed to his hand, wrist, more like, but he covered with a shake of his head.

“But…if we don’t exorcise it properly, well, you’re gonna be possessed. Forever.”

“Oh. Great,” Jake said dryly.

“Yeah. So we’re gonna have to make sure that we keep you here.”

Sam stuttered to a stop and looked like he didn’t know quite how to phrase it.

“Oh, dude, just spit it out already,” Dean said. For once, they were in total agreement.

“We’re gonna tie you up again.” Jake flushed, he felt it, and Dean snickered like this was his own personal comedy show and everyone else was just too dumb to clue in to that fact.

Jake ignored him, as did Sam, looking some kind of question at him, and Jake just shrugged. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Yeah, and it’s hardly a hardship for him. Just make sure you don’t come too quick so we have a chance to get through the whole ritual, dude.” That really did make Jake flush, heat sweeping up from his neck to turn his face bright red, he was sure. Sam shot Dean a dirty look.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

***

Sam snapped the handcuffs around his wrists, not saying anything. The vantage point—him flat on his back on his bed, Sam hovering over him—gave Jake good access to watch Sam’s throat as he did it, although it didn’t totally distract him from the metal around his wrists. Both wrists this time, Sam looping the cuffs thought the wrought iron of his headboard and clicking them closed securely.

“So, what happens if you can’t exorcise this thing?”

“That won’t happen,” Sam said lowly, stepping a little ways a way and practically pouring sincerity over Jake.

“Yeah, but if it does, I’m what? Possessed by a demon?”

Sam nodded. “Until we figure out how to get it out of you.”

“If that happens, you have to get me away from here. A demon with the resources of KMG…that can’t happen.”

“Really, it’ll be fine,” he soothed.

Jake just shook his head, refusing to let Sam lull him into some kind of comfort zone where all was pretty and light. “No, Sam, you have to promise me that you’ll either kill me or take me away.”

Sam blinked, finally getting that Jake was serious. He nodded, slow. “We’ll get you away.”

“And don’t—don’t rule out the killing me thing. Dean could easily take my place. Just call it stress, say it aged me a few years, whatever.”

Sam kind of recoiled, face taking on a grim determination that made Jake’s throat go a little dry. “Not gonna happen, Jake. Don’t worry about it; we’ve done this before.”

“Yeah. But just—just remember it.”

Sam nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking off toward the windows. It was dark out, not that Jake was at all tired.

“Now we just wait?”

Sam breathed out, slow, nodding to him. “You should probably try and go to sleep.” The way he said it was almost—fond?

Jake snorted. “The adrenaline’s really helping with that.”

“Got any sleeping pills?”

“I doubt it. You could look.”

Sam shook his head. “Probably better not to have drugs in you, anyway. No idea what effect they’d have.”

They lapsed into silence again, but Jake could still feel where Sam’s weight pressed the bed down, could hear him breathing.

“You’re just gonna wait here until I fall asleep?”

Sam looked down at him, firm resolve there that was a little chilling to see. “We need to know when the demon shows up.”

“By me panting and moaning. Great.” Sam had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but well, what could you do?

“Not like we haven’t seen it before.”

Aw, man. “Thank you for that. Appreciate it.”

Sam held a hand to his heart. “I’m here for you. Really.”

Jake laughed a little, but settled into muted quiet again Sam still there and still just…being there.

“Okay, if sleep is the goal, you might want to go wait somewhere else.”

“I told you, we need to know when the demon—”

“Yeah, got it. But the thing is, you’re really distracting so as long as you’re sitting here, sleep isn’t gonna be happening.”

Sam shook his head, confusion spreading over his face. “I’m distr—oh. Right. Okay. I’ll be in the hall, then.” He blinked at Jake a couple more times, like Jake was going to protest or something, and beat a hasty retreat when Jake didn’t.

Okay, that was strange. He puzzled at Sam’s reaction for a bit before giving it up as useless and also, keeping him awake. He shifted a little, toward the door, and let his eyes close, evening his breathing. If he mimicked sleep, it might just come.

It could happen.

***

Soft fingers ran down the insides of his arms, starting from his wrists and moving down, down, scratching in the hottest way Jake had ever felt. He arched into the presence on top of him, sighing at all the skin-on-skin contact. He really didn’t get enough of this.

The man laughed, his breath floating across Jake’s lips before he followed them with his tongue, a tease that had Jake opening his mouth, breathing him in, something dark and dangerous coating his tongue.

But the man didn’t follow up with a kiss, moved unerringly downwards, hands trailing all over Jake’s body, teasing touches that had him twitching, not that he could do anything about it since his hands were still secured above his head.

His mouth finally did make contact, tongue swirling around the head of Jake’s cock, and Jake arched up, trying to get more, even as the man laughed and held him down. It only made him that much harder, made him jerk his wrists, feeling pain mix into it all in a heady rush.

“Please,” he groaned, struggling against the hold. Futilely. It was like iron.

A hot mouth descended upon him, all of him, and wasn’t he just thinking about this before? But the thought was wiped away by the rhythm, the maddening, too-perfect rhythm he set up, sinking down on his cock and then back up, tongue doing things that made Jake stop breathing.

His legs were pressed open and he went with it, let him do whatever, so long as he’d continue this perfect feeling. Slick fingers pressed in, pressed him open, and it was brutally short, a couple twists and they were gone, his cock pressing forward almost immediately, stretching Jake more where his fingers hadn’t done the job, making Jake wince but it was still somehow okay, still made the pleasure thrum through him in heated pulses.

And then Jake just let himself be pounded into, let himself be held down, even as he tried to arch and twist and get more, even as metal bruised his wrists and made him that much harder. It was a twisting roil of feeling, pleasure/pain mix enough to have him panting, but then it faltered, rhythm gone to hell and—

It was like screaming into a dark, muffling pillow—he couldn’t even hear the sounds coming out of his own throat, could only feel the agony of being pushed back, away, subsumed by something. And then he was nothing.

***

Jake woke on a shock of air, a reflexive gasp in that had him lightheaded and tingling everywhere. He had no idea what happened, no idea what was going on, but he was splayed out on his bed and someone was physically holding him down.

He focused in on two important things: he was being held down and he was really fucking horny. And the one contributed to the other. 

It didn’t even occur to him not to just go with it, not to arch his head and lick a long swipe up Sam’s neck—yeah, it was Sam holding him down—biting into the underside of his jaw. The hands holding his shoulders flexed and it was enough of a distraction for Jake to wedge his leg to the side, out from under where Sam had him pinned, and to get it between Sam’s legs, Jake arching up to rub himself against Sam’s thigh and moaning at the resulting sparks. God, that felt good.

Sam tried to move, to get Jake pinned again, but the resulting squirming only lined them up even better, Jake rubbing himself against Sam’s crotch and only a little surprised to feel him hard. It didn’t stop him, though, and Jake bit Sam’s chin, licking at the little cleft there, feeling the shudder that wracked Sam’s body, his haphazard thrust down that made Jake’s eyes roll to the back of his head, tearing a groan from him.

Finally, finally, Sam got the message, dropping his weight onto Jake and taking his mouth, hot little flicks of his tongue pressed into Jake’s moans, even as he rubbed their dicks together insistently, like fucking high school kids dry humping on some couch at halftime. Not that Jake had ever done that.

Jake’s hands curled into themselves, feeling the metal cut his skin when he pulled at them, making all the sensations that much more present, even as Sam held onto a hip and went to fucking town, twisting his hips and then _dragging_ them down, way too slow.

“Fuck!” Jake yelled, trying to get a leg around Sam and growling when Sam moved a hand to hold him in place, feeling the twitch of pleasure even at just that.

So fucking fucked and in this moment, with Sam biting at his bottom lip and grinding into him, he did not care.

“What the fuck?” Jake heard it distantly, but Sam squeezed his thigh and bit his lip, hard, and thrust down, also hard, and Jake was _gone_ , nails biting into his palms as lightning raced through him, hotter and more intense than anything, ever, Jake groaning Sam’s name as he came and came and came.

“You’ve got to be fucking shitting me!” Nope, still not penetrating the haze, but Jake noticed Sam had gone very still against him and it was enough to get him to open his eyes, rouse himself and look.

Which was like a splash of frigid water when you were expecting it enough to dread the feeling.

Dean stood there, disheveled, blinking like if he did it enough, the scene would suddenly change into something not this.

Sam watched Jake, his eyes still dilated, cock still hard against Jake’s, and Jake rolled his hips, just a little, letting him know he was still up for finishing this.

But it seemed to shake Sam out of whatever funk he’d been in, Sam rolling off on a sigh.

“Sam!”

“Yeah,” he answered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He sounded somehow drained, tired, and it made Jake wonder what had happened in the time he’d been…in his head.

“You’re fucking my doppelganger! What the fuck?”

“Actually, that was frottage. Fucking would involve far fewer clothes.” 

Jake made a hungry noise, totally involuntary, and Sam turned to smile a tiny, slow, burning suggestion at him.

“Sam!”

His head whipped back toward Dean. “What?!”

“Don’t you think this is a little fucked up?” he asked, gesturing to all three of them, the world, the universe, maybe.

“‘By the way, we’re brothers?’ Don’t even try to act shocked.” Huh?

That sure shut Dean down, gaze shifting quickly to Jake and then back again, definitely uncomfortable. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t sure. You’ve got the most bizarre,” he waved a hand at Sam, like it was at all illustrative, “way of doing things.”

“So you decide acting like the world’s biggest dick is in order?”

“Gee, Sam, we show up for a job, find my doppelganger, and you immediately start circling like he’s a bitch in heat. What do you want me to do?”

“Say ‘Hey, Sam, about that thing where you seem to want my double. What’s going on there?’ You know, use words instead of throwing this ridiculous temper tantrum—”

“I was not throwing a temper tantrum—”

“Taking his sandwich? Going off to watch the straightest straight-man porn you could find? Insulting him at every turn? Any of these sounding familiar?”

“That was just—” Dean paused, widening his arms like an explanation would come to him if he opened himself up to it. 

It didn’t happen. And Jake…was fucking confused.

“A tantrum,” Sam finished, gentler. “As for what’s up, no, Dean, I don’t want to fuck you.” Oh. Well, yeah, he’d been wondering about that, too.

“Okay, but I’m just sayin’, he looks a lot like me.”

“And if you spent five seconds actually talking to him, you’d get that he’s nothing like you. Not at all.” Sam was firm on that, and it was true, but…

“Yeah, but. He _looks_ like me, man.”

Sam just rolled his eyes, looking to Jake like he wanted support or something.

Jake had nothing. His brain had liquefied and shot out through his dick. It was currently coagulating in his pants which also, was getting gross again. He really needed to stop with this.

“Uhh, the man has a point,” Jake said.

Sam just threw up his hands, the world was against him and all that, moving to get up. 

“Before you go, can you uncuff me? My arms are getting kind of numb,” Jake pointed out, not at all on a whine. Nope. Not him.

“You sure you don’t want to go another round?” Dean asked darkly.

Jake swung his eyes from Dean, glowering, to Sam who was totally blank. What was he supposed to say to that? 

Fine, the truth then: “Uhh, I could get on board with that…”

Dean grunted something pained and turned on his heel, stalking out. Sam watched him go, frowning, but soon switched his attention to Jake, moving back over to the bed, casual as anything, as if neither of them were thinking of all the dirty, kinky sex they would be having. With handcuffs.

Jake’s dick twitched. It was…still kind of gross.

“Okay, I _need_ to get out of these pants, man.”

A corner of Sam’s lips lifted and Jake didn’t lick his own lips in response. Not at all.

“I think can help with that.”

***

“Car’s packed,” Dean called, walking in on them, getting a good look, and promptly turning on his heel. “God! Haven’t you ever heard of common decency?” His voice took on a definite whine as he retraced his route.

“Fuck you very much!” Jake called after him, pulling himself far enough away that Sam’s mouth wouldn’t muffle it.

He and Dean hadn’t gotten very much friendlier in the two days that had passed, but Dean seemed to come to some mild toleration of him. Either that or Jake just wasn’t seeing him that often…for obvious reasons.

“So, I’m gonna play it cool and not be the clingy bitch that asks you to stay,” Jake informed Sam, straight up, pulling back even further.

“Good to know.” Sam fingered Jake’s button-down idly, running the blue silky material between his fingers.

“On the other hand, if you should ever be passing this way again, I am more than happy to be a port. I have no shame.”

Sam snorted, light and amused. “Also good to know.” He grinned like he might consider taking him up on it and that was…that was cool.

“And now that I think about it, if you’re ever around New York, Atlanta, Chicago, San Diego, or New Orleans…gimme a call. I do have my own jet, you know. And the workers, they need personal attention from the future boss. Like, a lot.” Jake nodded sagely.

Sam full-on laughed at that one, eyes sparkling knowingly in the afternoon light. “Basically, if I’m anywhere near a metropolis, ever, give you a call.”

“No shame. Did I mention that part?”

“Not that I recall, no.”

“And, of course, if you need my billions of dollars for anything…”

“I know who to call. Got it. And…thanks.” The last was sincere, moving past the joke into softness and honest appreciation…and Jake was so not a girl.

“But if it’s something like Dean losing his car in a poker game, don’t even bother. He can fucking own that pain.”

“I heard that, fucker!” Dean walked back in and Sam moved even further back, letting go of Jake’s shirt. “Are you done yet? I get any more of this California sun and they’ll have no choice but to stick me on the cover of magazines.”

“Yeah, try and avoid that kind of attention, huh? You’ve got enough problems without people holding you hostage because they think you’re me.”

Dean scoffed. “Like anyone could take me.”

Sam just rolled his eyes on a sigh, but it was content, like at least they weren’t yelling at one another anymore over their complete inability to understand each other.

Or something like that.

Dean just grinned and quirked a hand at him, some sort of recognition, thanks, maybe, and backed out of the room, slanting a glance at Sam.

Sam turned back to Jake. “So, I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah. Good luck on the, uh, what was it again?”

“Probably a poltergeist, but we’ll see. And thanks.” Sam nodded and kind of just stood there, nodding. 

Jake shuffled his feet a little, not really knowing how this was supposed to work.

Sam shook himself and—“Right. Well. See ya,” Sam said, finally moving out the door.

“Yeah.” And the thing was—the thing was, Jake just might. And that was kind of cool.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
